


Still Clean

by lofticries



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pseudo-Incest, Sex Work, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-08 02:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21468682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lofticries/pseuds/lofticries
Summary: Vanya's weighed down by the past but the present won't give her a break. Five doesn't make things any easier.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 52
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soitgoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soitgoes/gifts).

> **Note:** This fictional scenario about sex work. I'm not pretending that this is an accurate depiction nor claim to know everything about sex workers. So pls take everything with a grain of salt. If it sounds unrealistic... it probably is! But it's a plot device for siblings to fuck don't judge me!
> 
> I was supposed to write a quick pwp for Bri's birthday back in September but this happened instead. Oops. 
> 
> Title taken from [Still Clean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXPyZqfIces) by Soccer Mommy.
> 
> (unbeta-ed bc nobody deserves to read thru my mess lmfaoooo)

Vanya wakes up with a sharp ache in her chest and tears running down her cheeks. She takes in a deep shuddering breath, pressing her palms to her eyes and willing herself to calm down.

It happened again. She was dreaming of her childhood, the bittersweet golden days full of tiny pockets of bliss, so precious to her she can recall every moment. She was dreaming of that bliss, and how she darkened those warm days with her terrible decisions. And in the aftermath, morning light peeking in cruelly through her window, the regret fills her lungs so deeply, her mouth tastes sour.

She was dreaming of _him._

Vanya forces herself out of bed, her heart squeezing painfully. Ah yes, the old familiar pain associated with Five coming back in full effect, tearing out the sutures of the poorly stitched wound in her heart. She doubles her dosage as she’s prone to do whenever she remembers her estranged brother and spends the rest of the day in a haze. Zoning out during rehearsal, making her seat-mate scoff at her, and fumbling over her lessons with her students who have no patience for her lack of attention.

It is a bad day.

To top the continuous misery off, while she’s cleaning the bathroom, she trips over her hair dryer’s cord and drops her hand-mirror.

Vanya doesn’t consider herself superstitious in any regard. But she can’t help but frown down at the broken glass, a strange sense of foreboding coming over her. Seven years of bad luck. “That can’t be good,” she murmurs to herself.

Three days later, she gets a notice from her landlord about how rent is going to be raised ten percent starting next month. Later in the week, three of her students unexpectedly quit on her, saying they’re going to try other instruments besides the violin. Rehearsal continues as poorly as it has been this month, without any signs of her moving up a chair position.

Vanya doesn’t consider herself superstitious. But she _is_ a realist. Her stack of bills along with her dwindling checking account doesn’t bode well for her.

She tries not to panic just yet, making plans in her head. Stop using the heat. Cut out breakfast. Stock up on canned food on sale. Look into a second job. Squeeze by until she gets more students. She’s been on her own since she left the Hargreeves mansion at eighteen, refusing to take Dad’s charity, determined to put herself through college without a single Hagreeves’ cent.

And despite everything she lost from that decision, she did it. She got that degree, moved out on her own, and no one else cares about it, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

She can do this. Vanya’s a survivor. It’ll be alright.

Murphy’s Law, the old adage: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

And everything goes wrong.

* * *

Three miserable months trickle by. Vanya's search for a second job isn't going anywhere and her weight loss and shitty sleep schedule have her passing the days in a dull, exhausted haze. She's at the end of her rope, the last semblance of her willpower thinning into a frayed string. She doesn't want to admit it to herself, but she has no idea what she's going to do. It's frightening.

And then, out of all people, it’s Klaus who comes to her rescue. Like a demented, drugged-up guardian angel.

He drops by unexpectedly one day, cheerfully greeting her when she opens the door. “Baby sister! I bring news!” he crows, pushing inside to flop on her old weathered couch. “Guess who’s coming back to town!”

Klaus looks well, Vanya notes. More sober than usual, which probably means Ben’s been with him. “Allison?” she guesses halfheartedly, as she rummages around in the cupboard for something to offer him. There's nothing but cup ramen and plain crackers so snacks are out of the question. But she still has plenty of packets of different flavored tea. 

“Nice try but there’s no way Allie would give up the glitz and glamor of Hollywood to come back to this dump.” Klaus frowns, rubbing his arms together. “Brrrr, sis your apartment is _chilly_, and not in a fun frappuccino way.”

Vanya brings over his cup of tea with a strained smile. She doesn’t want to explain the lack of heat in the apartment. It would be her luck that her rent would go up during the chilly season. “So if it’s not Allison then…?” Between the two of them, they don’t really know that many people. Just family.

Oh.

Her stomach sinks.

Klaus’s eyes glitter over his cup. “The prodigal son returns,” he whispers in delight, before taking a huge sip, and yelping at the burn on his tongue.

Vanya's frozen. “...Five?” His name feels strange to say out loud. Five has been gone for years, leaving the mansion soon after Vanya had, getting into a prestigious accelerated theoretical physics program at MIT. Even Allison kept more in touch with the rest of the siblings than he did. Last Vanya heard, he’d gotten his doctorate and was touring the country giving lectures at various top universities about his theoretics on time travel. Several gossip magazines still keep track of him. Vanya collects the ones with his handsome angular face blown up on the cover.  
‘  
They’re all in a box under her bed for her to look at on days when she misses him the most.

She hasn’t talked to him in nearly eight years. And it’s nobody’s fault but hers.

Her chest is starting to hurt at the very thought of him. Before Vanya can wander further down memory lane, that poorly stitched wound coming undone again, the power goes out, leaving the two of them in the dark. Klaus squawks and Vanya swears. “I paid the bill, I swear I paid the damn bill - “ she mutters under her breath, stumbling her way in the dark back to the kitchen to find a flashlight. She shines it in her brother’s direction. “Klaus? Are you alright?”

The light illuminates his face. He flashes a peace sign at her, laughing at the shadow it casts on the wall. “I’m peachy, baby sis! But are _you_ okay?”

Vanya tenses, glad he can't see it. “Why… wouldn’t I be okay?” She forces a smile at Klaus and her carefree brother drops his, smoothing his features into something uncharacteristically serious.

“Oh come on V, I'm not stupid. It feels like Sibe in here, so you’ve got heating problems. The power went out, so you’ve got gas problems. Problems stacked on problems stacked on problems. What’s going on?”

Her mouth drops open. His question leaves her at a loss at how to respond.

Vanya represses. It’s the way she learned growing up in that household always pushed into the background. Her troubles, her pains, they were never important. They always stayed locked away deep, deep inside her, not to be voiced.

And besides - if she were to share her troubles with anyone, it wouldn’t be Klaus. Back then she only ever talked to Ben and Five. Everyone else was too busy with themselves. Too busy for quiet ordinary Number Seven. She doesn’t know how she feels about sharing her troubles with Klaus, who has never cared much before.

But it’s been nearly three months of one-meal days, shivering in her bed, no luck finding another source of income. And although she and Klaus have never been close, he’s actually _asking._ Nobody else. Just him. That counts for something.

Vanya lowers the flashlight. It’s easier to tell the truth in the dark.

“Wow,” Klaus says when she’s finished explaining her shitty living situation. There’s no pity in his voice, and Vanya’s grateful. “Why don’t you move back home?” He sounds sheepish. “I uh, kinda tore down your wall… so your room’s gone... but! There are plenty of lovely guest rooms to choose - “

“No,” Vanya cuts in forcefully. Home isn't an option, even though a piece of her stings at the fact that her room is now gone. The only trace that she ever lived at the Hagreeves mansion, disappeared. How fitting, considering she lived like a ghost in that house for so many years. “And I won’t take money from Dad either.” She thinks back to his cold unaffected face when she’d finally gotten the courage to tell him she wanted to go to college.

_“Very well, Number Seven. I will make the arrangements for you since I don’t believe you will be able to attend anywhere worthwhile without my assistance.”_

Just remembering makes the sick feeling of fury rise in her.

“Vanya - “

She shakes her head. “No,” she repeats out loud when she realizes Klaus probably can’t see that. “It’s… been rough but I’m looking for another job. Something will come up.” It has to. "I can't go back home, Klaus. I just can't."

She can't face crawling back to the place she ran from. She can't face the memory of her mistakes.

Klaus sits back down, tugging at her sleeve so that she joins him. They’re both quiet for a moment. Part of her regrets telling him anything in the first place, humiliation and exhaustion stirring inside her with equal intensity.

“You know how I make money?” Klaus asks after awhile, words coming out slowly, like he’s hesitant to say this.

Vanya blinks. _Stealing_ is her first thought - she knows that he’s stolen a ton of money from Dad but most of it went to drugs rather than sustaining himself. She bites her tongue though. No need to antagonize Klaus right now, not when he's in her corner. “How?”

He takes the flashlight from her hands, shining it under his chin. The upward direction of the light cast makes his wide smile look eerie. “You’re not going to like it,” he sing-songs.

Vanya's got a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

“No ass, barely any tits to talk about,” the Madam’s voice is contemptuous as she prods at Vanya’s naked body with her sharp purple nails. “Small though, men like that. Good skin.” Her free hand comes to undo Vanya’s low messy bun. Her hair cascades past her shoulders. “Pretty hair. Keep it down when you have clients.”

_Clients,_ Vanya thinks faintly. Clients because she’s getting sized up by an - an _escort manager_ \- to figure out what kind of men want to pay her.

For sex.

She’d gone lightheaded when Klaus very casually talked about what he did for a living. Unable to stop herself from picturing her brother blowing some guy in a random alleyway. Which he apparently did - on a regular basis! “Oh but you don’t have to sell yourself on the streets Vanya. You’re too baby for that. I know a lady, she’ll take real good care of you.”

“You - you’re telling me I should sell my body for money?” Vanya croaks out.

Klaus shrugs. “I said you wouldn’t like it.”

It takes Vanya a whole week to work up the nerve to visit the address Klaus gave her. Madam had made a face when she showed up but let out an understanding noise when Vanya stuttered that her brother Klaus referred her. She’d immediately told Vanya to strip down, barking a laugh at Vanya’s shocked expression. “You can’t be shy in this business, girl. Now take off your clothes.”

After the detailed, violating inspection, Vanya shimmies back into her clothes and spends the next ten minutes filling out a detailed form that essentially asked what she was willing to do in bed. Vanya blushes furiously at some of the categories, ones that she’s never considered - _bondage bunny, dominatrix, mommy/daddy kink_ \- and fills it out as best as she can.

Madam scrutinizes the list with pursed lips for what seems like an hour. Vanya squirms in her seat, feeling naked again even though she’s fully dressed. “Well,” the older woman drawls. “You’re certainly not like your brother are you?”

Vanya can feel her hackles rise. She bites back a snarky response, anxiety turning her hands clammy with sweat. Madam lets out a sigh. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than this if you want to make any real money, sweetheart.” She peers at Vanya suspiciously. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Vanya swallows hard.

The truth is, she has a weird history with sex. She lost her virginity to a guy she’d been casually seeing in college. It had been quick, painful, and sweaty. Needless to say, the two of them fizzled out pretty quickly, setting a precedent for how most of her “relationships” had continued for the next few years. A string of distant, unaffected lovers who had little interest in anything Vanya had to offer besides her body.

For the longest time, Vanya didn’t mind that. Sex is pleasant in the physical sense. Being that close to someone, stripped down bare, chest to chest, gives her a grounding sensation little else does. A connection with another person, even a shallow physical one, is comforting.

All her life she craved the attention and affection of her family. Maybe that’s why she was so needy in college. Because even if those relationships were void of any real affection, at least when someone was inside her she got to feel _something._ A false sense of intimacy.

But that feeling didn’t really stick when she only ever slept with people who didn’t care about her as a person. She could only pretend for so long. Ultimately all those encounters ever did was leave her feeling more lonely with a sore cunt and shaky legs.

It would’ve been nice to have been with someone who actually loved her.

_Before college there was Fi - _

No. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about the days when she and Five traded unpracticed, fumbling kisses in the dark, when Five would sneak into her bed to hold her close. When their hands would wander underneath their Academy pajamas, curious and hungry.

Don’t think about how those clumsy youthful indiscretions with Five sparked more heat and intensity in her than any of her encounters as an adult. There is no use in thinking about it. The past is nothing but a distant memory, her favorite brother a million miles away, practically dead and gone to her. Vanya doesn’t have the luxury to mourn that. Not anymore. Her future lies in that stupid piece of paper’s hands, Madam staring her down with clear disdain glinting in her eyes.

Vanya takes a deep breath. She spent years sleeping with people to try to get their love. Sleeping with them for money shouldn’t be that much worse.

“What do you recommend, Madam?” she asks dully.

Her new boss sends her home with an expensive moisturizer, waxing strips, and contract outlining escort etiquette and expectations. As soon as Madam gets her clients, she has to go to a clinic for a checkup before starting a week “trial run.” Make sure she can handle it.

It’s really happening, isn’t it.

Vanya feels sick the entire cab ride home. It starts raining all of a sudden so her apartment is absolutely frigid when she walks in. She goes straight to bed, wrapping herself up in three blankets, and trying to compartmentalize the turbulent emotions swirling inside her.

Vanya curls up into a ball, shivering. She can’t even turn on the damn heat for a cold rainy night. It doesn’t matter how she feels about it. Vanya’s a realist, a survivor. If she has to sell some pussy to get by, then so be it. It’s just another job. She was looking for a second job anyways, wasn’t she?

The sound of the rain lulls her into an uneasy sleep, mind still buzzing from trying to justify her decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five shows up in the next chapter. Honestly idk what to tell y'all this is gonna get really gross, turn back now!! Save yourself!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that Vanya does have sex with older men in this chapter and even though it doesn't really go into detail, it's there! Let me know if you need additional content warnings
> 
> Tegan and Sara's [Walking with the Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtCGODjuRq0) is the soundtrack of this chapter

When Madam first gets her work, Vanya has more sex in one week than she has the entire year. Most of it is wholly unremarkable, mediocre sex, but regardless, it is still sex. The parade of men coming and going at her apartment is completely bizarre. Honestly, it makes her a little nervous to have so many strangers in her home. Madam had assured her that the agency’s security measures were top notch and every client went through a thorough background check.

“If you don’t want them at your place darling, you can always set up at a hotel room,” Madam advises her when Vanya brings up her concerns. Her smile turns cold. “The charge will come straight from your service fees, of course.”

She blanches at the thought of losing money. Vanya decides to take her chances. Apparently, plenty of Madam’s girls have clients at their own place. She _does_ buy a can of cheap pepper spray, foregoing dinner for a few days. Just to be safe.

As soon as her test results come in - squeaky clean - Madam bombards her with reminders and rules before she starts working. “Always use a condom” and “Get half the money upfront, ask for the rest after he’s finished.” Vanya’s head spins from information overload, frantically trying to remember everything, stomach coiling with nerves once Madam informs her that she’ll start receiving clients soon.

“It took some work to find men that would be interested in you,” she drawls and Vanya tries not to flinch at that. “But I found them. Sad men, unhappy with work or their wives, looking for something sweet.” She peers at Vanya over the desk with a sharp look. “They’re looking for comfort. Remember they’re your customers. You need to satisfy them. You have to be a _good girl._”

Vanya isn’t quite sure what constitutes as being a “good girl.”

The first time is… hard to say the least. Despite Madam’s warnings, she can’t relax at all, focusing on scrubbing her body clean. Her customer is an older man with a tired face. He talks about his exhausting week while he plays with her pussy and Vanya tries her best to respond as well as she can, stumbling over her words as she fights down the internal panic that bubbles in her. She’s not doing _anything_ right but the man doesn’t seem to mind. When he pushes inside, her body is still wound up and taught with tension and she’s not all that wet. Still, her customer seems to enjoy that, groaning about how tight she is and slamming into her.

He leaves her after kissing both her cheeks and tipping her extra. “I’ll come see you again, sweetheart.” Vanya smiles brightly at him, as if the idea truly delights her. But as soon as he’s gone, she stumbles to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach.

She doesn’t get much time to recover. Her next customer is coming in an hour. She splashes cold water on her face, brushes her teeth, and thoroughly rinses her mouth before cleaning herself up. Have to be nice and fresh for every new customer, no matter what the previous one did to you. At least she remembers that rule.

The rest of the week passes by in a similar fashion. Vanya has no idea how Madam finds all these men who want to sleep with her but here they are, arriving at her apartment like clockwork, Vanya preparing her perfect doll facade for them every time. And despite their obvious interest in her body and her face, the proof in their wandering hands and eager thrusting, Vanya doesn’t think she’s experienced such emptiness from sex. There’s an awful churning in the pit of her stomach every time a customer leaves, her doll mask slipping until she retches again or has a mini panic attack, clutching her pillow to her chest as she sucks in frantic gulps of air. Whenever it’s too bad, she takes an extra pill.

She hadn’t expected to react this way.

At least with her ex boyfriends, she could pretend _somebody_ loved her. But with all her transactional affairs, there isn’t an illusion of affection. Her customers pay her, do what they want with her for an hour, and give the rest before departing, leaving Vanya reeling.

It makes her sick.

The one thing she won’t allow herself is tears. As sick as she might get, this is her job now. An exchange of services - their money for her body, and she isn’t a child anymore. She won’t cry over earning money to feed herself.

She buys a stronger mouthwash. She needs it.

When Sunday comes around, signifying the end of her first work week, Vanya is _drained._ Physically and mentally. If she’s being honest, now that she’s actually gone through it, she’s not sure if she can handle this. She can’t be the good girl everyone pays her to be.

Vanya can’t give everything of herself and get nothing in return.

Then she sits on her bed and carefully counts the money she’s earned. She separates Madam’s cut into another pile, and stares speechlessly at her hands. Needless to say, the thought of quitting immediately fades away.

She can’t afford to not do this.

It takes a couple of weeks, but slowly but surely Vanya learns to retreat deep into her body whenever she’s with customers. It’s about them, it’s not about her. It’s their fantasy. If they want to finish on her chest or slide a finger in her ass, as long as they pay for it, they can do whatever they want.

Meanwhile, Vanya is pretending. It’s easiest when she’s lying on her stomach so they fuck her from behind, but the minute they’re inside, Vanya pretends she’s having sex with someone else. Someone who isn’t paying for it. Someone who actually cares about her.

_Someone like - _

But the men always come with a grunt, calling out endearments - never her real name, that’s not something Vanya ever shares with them - and her fantasy is broken for the sake of theirs. “What a good girl,” they’ll coo at her, patting at her cheek, and Vanya bites the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything back.

She… thinks she’s being a good girl. The men often bring things that they want to use on her during the session - handcuffs, silk ropes, vibrators of various shapes and sizes. Vanya learns to accommodate for them. She knows which customers like it when she dresses herself up for them and she knows which ones prefer her naked. Vanya keeps all her sex work things in separate box, not wanting to see them amongst her personal things. She doesn’t want to think about her job outside of her working hours. Out of sight, out of mind, only to be taken out when she has a customer over. All her condoms and lube along with her sexy underwear and other items are stuffed in a box under her bed. Right next to the box with Five’s magazines and old letters she never sent him.

She hasn’t looked at that box in a while.

Despite everything, Vanya does her best to look at the positives. With the boost to her paycheck, she can start eating actual meals and turn on the heat. Her students have stopped complaining about how cold her apartment is and she doesn’t have to go to bed hungry anymore. And with her second, secret job tucked away under her bed, Vanya can teach and play the violin with little anxiety.

For her sake, she ends up buying bunch of scented candles to disguise the scent of sex in the apartment. She lights one when she’s done with her last customer of the night and whenever she has a student over.

“It smells good in here, Miss Vanya!” one of her students says cheerfully in the middle of a lesson. Vanya smiles thinly. Lavender and lilac in her bedroom, cinnamon and vanilla in the living room. Comforting, soothing scents.

Anything to help pretend she’s just a violin teacher.

* * *

Vanya gets busy.

To make up for her late bills and the fees associated with them, every time Madam has a work opportunity, Vanya says yes. She schedules clients with little time in between their visits for that extra cash, fighting through the aches of her body. For the next few weeks, her life is orchestra practice in the morning, lessons in the afternoon, and sex at night. All her free time is eaten up, and Vanya barely has a spare moment for herself. As soon as she’s done for the night, she immediately crawls into bed and is out like a light.

Eat, sex, violin, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Madam notices her yawning when she comes to drop in her weekly cut and snaps at her. “Your body is the job. Don’t be a child. Make sure you’re resting properly.” She forces Vanya to take a day off and Vanya leaves with an inkling that her boss is a lot kinder than she lets herself appear.

Her day off is _glorious._ She gets to sleep early so she wakes up on time for orchestra for once. She plays better than she has in weeks and spends the rest of the day in a good mood. She only has a couple of students in the afternoon and decides that she’s going to treat herself. She buys new sheet music and indulges in her favorite Chinese restaurant. The owner pinches her cheeks, complains about how thin she’s gotten, and adds an extra order of dumplings. Vanya hasn’t been for a while and is almost tempted to mention that she was _thinner_ just a couple of months ago. She keeps her mouth shut and takes the offered food with a smile.

She’s in a good mood when she enters her apartment, humming under her breath. So the sudden chill that rushes over her when she realizes that someone’s in her apartment, leaves her lightheaded. They’re sitting on her couch, watching her TV, and Vanya panics. She grabs her pepper spray with shaky hands - A thief? A customer? A stalker - but nothing prepares her for the face that looks up at her. A face she hasn’t seen in years but that she’s traced her fingers over on the glossy surfaces of magazines.

Vanya lets out a shriek and Five raises an eyebrow.

“Klaus gave me your address,” he says simply. Vanya’s heart thumps wildly in her chest. Klaus? Klaus… Klaus!

_Oh you little idiot, how could you **forget?!**_ a voice seethes in her head. She did forget, completely forgot all about Klaus’s earth-shattering news about their brother’s return, too busy with her new schedule to pay it any mind.

But how could she forget about Five? A myriad of emotions surge through her as she tries to process the fact that Five is actually in front of her. She slumps against the doorframe, suddenly feeling weak. Her knees are shaking, her heart’s still hammering, and she can’t speak.

It’s Five. Five’s back. After years of no contact, not a single letter or phone call passed between them, he’s sitting on her shitty couch, watching her shitty TV, and staring at her like she’s a crazy person. She can’t blame him - she’s half collapsed with a giant bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and her pepper spray brandished like a weapon in the other.

Distantly, she wonders if she’s hallucinating. This doesn’t feel real. She should say something, Five is _right there_ in front of her and she really needs to open her damn mouth. But she finds herself speechless.

What does she say to the boy that used to be her favorite person in the universe? What does she say to the boy that ignored all her attempts to contact him while he was living his life? What does she say to the boy that she missed every single day?

What does she say to the boy she left behind when they promised they would leave together?

Except he’s not a boy anymore, he’s a _man_ now and he looks like it too. She’s frozen, even as he turns the TV off and rises to his full height, turning over to her with those intense, vivid eyes. It might have just been a few seconds that they stared each other down but for Vanya it felt like forever. Objectively she knows it’s Five standing before her. She knows his face and can see the brother she grew up with. Nevertheless, she can’t help but feel that she’s looking at a stranger. All his lanky awkward features from his youth are gone, replaced with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones.

Five is a man that’s grown into himself, in a crisp navy blue suit with his hair meticulously slicked back, and Vanya doesn’t recognize him.

Her chest aches.

Eight years is a very long time to miss someone.

“I don’t have to invite you in do I?” Five asks, finally breaking the silence. His voice is sharp, tinged with derision. “It _is_ your apartment, Vanya.”

His voice shocks her brain into rebooting though she almost falls to her feet hearing him call her name. She pushes herself up, taking a deep breath, cheeks blooming red with mortification. Her body feels heavy and clumsy under his piercing gaze as she shuts the door with her foot. “I have Chinese,” she stammers out. “Are you, um, hungry? There’s kung pao chicken and fried rice…”

As she walks into the kitchen, Five follows her without a word, hands in his pockets. Even walking ahead so that he’s out of sight, Vanya is so painfully aware of him. Her skin prickles with anxiety, nerves frayed just from being in his presence. She dumps the takeout bags on the kitchen table, and fumbles to the cupboard to get some plates. “Uh, so if you don’t like Chinese, there’s some takeout menus on the table.” She’s babbling, her nerves getting the best of her. “Thai or Italian maybe. Guido’s has good pasta…” Why is she so short? Why can’t she reach that damn plate? Her hands are trembling. _Stop that,_ she thinks to herself. _Shut up and just calm down -_

Vanya freezes again when a big hand clasps her shoulder. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of her blouse, warming up her skin. “I’ve got it,” Five says lightly, reaching up easily to grab the plates she was struggling for. She slowly tilts her head up to look back at him. He’s so tall now. Growing up, she and Five had always been around the same height until puberty hit and he shot up like a tree. But Five clearly kept growing past sixteen and now he’s at least a full head taller than her.

“Thank you,” she manages to say.

Five looks down at her with an inscrutable expression. Vanya can’t help but bite her lip. Now that she’s had time to process that he’s in her apartment, she has so many questions. How long has he been home? Did he have a safe flight?

Why has he come to see her?

But she doesn’t ask him any of that and when Five goes to set the table, she follows him quietly. Preparing to have dinner with a stranger wearing her brother’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty surprised with the response to this but it makes me happy!! If you enjoy it pls leave a comment, they feed me to update quicker. Also sidenote but the fiveya community on tumblr is hosting a secret santa and if that's something you think you'd be interested in, all the details are [here!](https://fivevanya.tumblr.com/post/189257837223/fivevanya-this-year-the-members-of-fivevanya)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so FUCKING long considering nothing happens but really it's just a look at how... weird and complicated Five and Vanya's relationship is. There's a lot going on there. HOPEFULLY YOU GUYS ENJOY IT. If not that's fine it's still here regardless
> 
> Song for this chapter: [Warm Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBPw0l26L58) by Carly Rae Jepsen (aka my queen)

Vanya is no stranger to uncomfortable meals. Most of her adolescence, she and her siblings had been forced to eat twice a day in the dining hall with their Dad at the head of the table, stern and serious, Herr Carlson’s monotonous voice droning in the background. She’d been having awkward meals for her entire life.

Still. With Five sitting across from her, neither of them touching their full plates of Chinese food, Vanya doesn’t think she’s had a more tense meal in her life. Even though it smells appetizing, her stomach is churning too hard to keep anything down. She pushes sadly at her chicken with her chopsticks.

What a waste.

Neither of them have said anything since they sat down. It’s so awkward. She knows that she should be the one to break the silence, it’s her apartment, it’s her food, she’s the host, but she can’t bring herself to say anything.

Besides, it’s not her fault Five just barged into her apartment, coming inside like he owned the place. Perhaps she’s being petty but she almost resents how comfortable he looks; leaning back against the chair, fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the table. Meanwhile her entire body feels like an exposed wire, crackling with electric nerves. She isn’t prepared for this at all, putting the blame on Klaus for freely giving away her address. She’ll have to talk to him about boundaries later. What if she had been busy? What if she had been work -

Vanya suddenly stiffens, horror sinking into her. Oh, god. What if there had been a _client_ here? That… she can’t even bring herself to consider it. It, quite literally, would have been the worst possible thing that could’ve happened. Her brother walking in on her with some dude’s cock down her throat. She feels like vomiting just at the thought of it.

Five looks up when she stands abruptly, appetite completely gone. “I’m gonna put the food away,” she mutters, not looking at him as she grabs her plate. He says nothing, just as she expected, and she bites back a sigh as she shovels their uneaten food into the takeout box. At least she has leftovers for tomorrow. When she goes to put them in the fridge, she keeps her head in the cool refrigerated air for a moment, willing herself to gain control of her facilities.

As soon as she pulls away, Five is staring at her with an unreadable expression. Vanya forces the corners of her mouth up into a poor attempt at a smile. “Do you want anything to drink Five?” she asks politely, making her way to the pantry. She could _really_ use a cup of green tea. It’ll help calm her nerves. “I can start a pot of coff - _eek!”_

She lets out a startled gasp when Five decides to blink over to her side, blue energy crackling loud in her ears. Her hands automatically go up to her chest, clutching at her shirt. She’s sure she looks ridiculous, but that _spooked_ her. Vanya hasn’t seen Five use his powers in years. Five’s mouth twitches at her reaction. From amusement or contempt, Vanya can’t tell.

He glances over at the mugs in her hands with pursed lips. “Do you have anything stronger?”

_This is a bad idea,_ Vanya thinks in dismay. And yet, she finds herself sitting on the couch with Five, a bottle of cheap whiskey between the both of them. Five eyes the label critically before taking a swig straight from the bottle and handing it over to Vanya. She wants to protest, Five’s the one that wanted to drink, not her! But somehow she doesn’t think he’d take kindly to that excuse. She takes a small sip, grimacing at the burn in her throat.

_Indirect kiss!_ a terrible little voice cackles in her head and Vanya viciously ignores it in favor of taking another swig, larger this time. Five grunts with approval, grabbing the bottle from her before she can offer it. They pass the bottle between them for a while, drinking in somewhat companionable silence. Vanya is getting increasingly tipsier, warmth spreading from her ears to the tips of her toes. A strange contrast to the clammy anxiety that’s been lingering in the pit of her stomach ever since she walked into the apartment.

Five’s taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He’s rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms, flashing his dark Umbrella Academy tattoo. Unlike earlier in the kitchen, Five’s leaning forward, eyes glazed and unfocused. She watches his throat bob as he takes his next swallow of whiskey with a dry mouth. When he pulls his mouth off the bottle, his lips are wet.

Vanya bites the inside of her cheek. Hard.

With the alcohol in her system, her thoughts are running wild, spinning out of control as she stares at his mouth, jaw, throat. Her body feels on fire. In theory, she knows the man that Five grew into, has seen his sharp piercing features blown up on tabloids and on the grainy surface of her television. But it’s a different thing entirely to see him in person. Right next to her. With only a tiny middle couch cushion between them. Five’s close enough that if Vanya reached out, she’d graze him with her fingertips.

She swallows tightly. God. Why does Five have to be so… be so…

_Handsome? Extraordinary? Perfect?_ that cackling voice from before mocks her, jabbing at the pathetic remnants of her self esteem and self control. He even _smells_ good. Is that some brand of designer cologne or something?

A bead of sweat rolls down her neck. She didn’t put the heat on did she? It’s hotter than usual, moisture collecting in the divot of her collarbones. She puts her hands on her cheeks, feeling how rosy they are, just as Five turns to look at her with the bottle still in hand.

Something sparks along her spine at their unexpected eye contact. Five blinks at her, surprised. “What’re you lookin’ at Hargreeves?” he asks, slurring his words. The bottle’s half empty, which is mostly his doing. The alcohol makes his voice sound rough and unpolished and Vanya shivers.

“Your face,” she admits with her own slur, tongue thick in her mouth. She sounds funny, words coming out all muddled and she giggles out loud. At the sound of it, Five exhales, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh yeah?” He drinks from the bottle again, pushing it towards her. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Vanya _has_ pictures. Not that she’d ever tell Five about her little collection, no way in hell. She’s not nearly drunk enough to admit to that. That’s not something Five ever needs to know. She stares down at the bottle, not sure if she should drink anymore. Her body’s flushed all over and her head feels all floaty. Just when she thinks she needs to get herself a glass of water, Five speaks again.

“You haven’t changed.”

Vanya looks up at him. Five’s considering her with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. If she had to take an educated guess, she’d say he looks _annoyed_ with her. For what? Vanya hasn’t done anything particularly annoying. Not yet anyways.

“What?” she asks, not quite sure if she heard him right.

“I mean. You still look the same.”

Vanya blinks. “I still look seventeen?”

Five’s eyes widen. “No, not,” he hesitates, a little flustered. Vanya’s anxiety has faded enough that she’s able to be pleased with herself for throwing Five off guard. “I meant, your face.” Five grimaces at his own words this time, shaking his head. He changes directions, pointing at his own head. “Your hair,” he states firmly, as if Vanya knows what he means by that.

He’s talking about her hair? She touches her forehead self-consciously. “My hair,” she repeats dumbly. Five nods back. Oh man. The two of them are really drunk aren’t they? “My bangs uh, grew out. Does it look weird?”

That last question slips out without permission. Vanya’s always got looser lips under the influence. Time to put a stop to this before she asks him if he thinks she’s gotten any prettier since he last saw her, or is she still the same skinny seventeen-year-old sister he remembers? Since she apparently _looks_ the same to him. God. “Um wow,” she laughs self-consciously, looking away from him. “I should… probably get some water. You want some water? You want some water.”

She tries to get up from the couch but is stopped by a firm hand on her knee. His sudden touch is a shock to her system, keeping her ass planted. The warmth of his callused palm seeps through her tights straight into her skin. She swears her body temperature rises by at least two degrees. Holy shit.

“You look the same,” he repeats himself, softer this time. What the hell does he mean by that? Vanya doesn’t know if it’s meant to be a good thing or a bad thing. Her insecurities has her leaning towards the latter. Same old Vanya, plain and unassuming. Little ordinary Number Seven following Number Five like a lost duckling.

_I’m not the same though,_ wants to tell him. Vanya grew up. She’s not the same little girl that needed to hide her tears in his shirt collar. She’s not the same little girl that followed him around, waiting on his every word. She grew up, _without him,_ something she never thought would happen. And that matters. It means something. She wants him to recognize that. She wants him to be as unnerved by her presence as she is by his. She wants him to look at her face and be thrown by how unfamiliar she is.

The reality is, she doesn’t know Five anymore. And he doesn’t know her. She has to pretend that she’s okay with that. She has to pretend that it doesn’t break her heart.

Instead of saying anything, Vanya takes the bottle from Five and takes another long swig, despite her earlier reservations. Fuck her complicated Five feelings, alcohol was her friend tonight. Five watches her intently as she chugs, huffing under his breath when she finishes with an unhappy noise. “Serves you right for buying shitty whiskey,” he slurs at her.

“Good whiskey is expensive,” she groans back. She’s pretty sure she got this bottle on sale sometime last year and never drank it since. “And the cheap stuff gets you drunker!” Well, that is certainly true.

He squints at her. “Is that what you do, Vanya? Get drunk on cheap whiskey every night?”

She prefers wine actually. But of course he doesn’t know that. Five doesn’t know _anything._ Idiot. “No, Five I’m not an alcoholic,” she snarks back. Gone is anxious nervous Vanya, buried under the sweet release of alcohol. She really doesn't drink that often. She can’t afford to with her early mornings. “I… give lessons! And play music.”

To her shock, Five brightens up at her words as if she just gave him the equation to solve his time travel paradox. “You’re still playing?” he asks eagerly. “Bring your violin, play something for me.”

Vanya laughs. “Oh no, I can’t. I’m too drunk for that!”

“No you’re not.” Five leans over to peer intently at her. His breath fans over her face. “Vanya. Vanyaaaa. Play somethin’ for me. C’mon.”

“I’m drunk,” she repeats herself but this is the first time all night Five sounds like the boy from her memories and not some new mysterious stranger. It’s this that has her stumbling to her feet to fetch her violin case from her room. She walks slowly, feet wobbling. She doesn’t realize that Five’s followed her until she turns and nearly collides into him. “Oops,” she murmurs, putting a hand on his chest. She can feel the steady thump of his heart.

Five stares down at her, eyes lidded. He’s so damn tall. There’s something about him being in her room that makes her go dizzy all of a sudden. He's never been here before. He's never seen it, the little space she carved out for herself outside the Academy. She can’t handle it. Keeping her hand firm on his chest, she pushes him out of the door and he easily goes.

“I really am too drunk for this,” she warns him as she takes her violin out of the case, not bothering to tune it. She’s sure Five won’t mind, alcohol makes everything better. He settles back on the couch expectantly, the whiskey back in his hand. He looks so eager, like a little boy, it makes her laugh. Her good mood makes her slip. “Any requests, good sir?”

Five freezes and Vanya’s immediately hit with regret. Oh, she is such an idiot. That’s what she used to ask him before. _Before_ they stopped talking to each other. When Five used to sneak into her room to take a break during training, sweaty and disheveled, sitting against her bed with his arm thrown over his eyes.

_ “Any requests, good sir?”_ she’d ask because that was the only comfort she could give him. Five wouldn’t confide in her the details of his pain or his exhaustion nor would he allow for her to coddle over him to soothe those perceived hurts. All she could do for him was play him some music, providing a moment of respite. A moment of peace. It was the least she could do. She’d ask him that every time and then he’d say -

“Play on my lady,” Five croaks. Vanya busies herself with putting the bow to her strings, ignoring the urge to burst into pathetic tears. She can’t bear to look at him. She’d been doing so well, trying to keep thoughts of the past at bay. But if they’re going down memory lane, she might as well play one of his favorite pieces.

She mostly remembers it, the motions coming back to her. She hasn’t played it in a couple of years, Vanya always tried her best to avoid playing the pieces that reminded her of Five.

For good reason too. The familiar notes in her ears make her eyes sting with tears. It’s a very particular kind of torture to be playing this song, remembering the two of them in her tiny childhood bedroom. Five quietly listening to the music she specifically chose to play for him. The music she picked out with the hopes of making him forget his worries. The music she picked out because she lov -

She misses a note in the middle of the bridge and stops abruptly, her bow letting an unpleasant high pitched shriek. Vanya exhales shakily. “I told you,” she mumbles, putting down her bow. She refuses to look at him. With the memories of _before_, it’s too painful to embrace the reality of him, and everything the two of them have lost. “I’m too drunk for - “

Vanya doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Five suddenly stands, walking over to her determinedly. For one horrifying, exhilarating moment she thinks he’s about to embrace her. She’ll burst at the seams if he does that, a time-bomb ready to explode at the faintest trigger. If he touches her, she will absolutely lose control.

Maybe Five senses that because he stops in the middle of grabbing her shoulder, arm hanging uselessly between them. “Vanya,” he says tightly. Vanya raises her head, blinking away the tears that have formed in her eyes. Five’s face falls. “That song,” he starts but Vanya just shakes her head.

“Why did you come here, Five?” she asks miserably. Why did he ask her to play the violin? Why did he tell her she hasn’t changed? Why is he looking at her like that?

Five looks frustrated. “Don’t you know?” he demands and she shakes her head again.

“No,” she murmurs. “I - don’t know anything.”

_And neither do you._

Vanya means to walk away from him but she stumbles instead, nearly falling to the ground. Five swears and reaches out for her, grabbing her wrist and tugging her against his chest. Vanya’s head spins. Five’s hands on her feel like hot coals and she’s seconds from combusting. Exploding from the emotional journey Five put her through from the minute she saw him.

“How drunk are you Vanya?” Five grumbles. He guides her back to the couch and sits her down, taking her violin and bow from her hands. As soon as he leaves her, Vanya feels both bereft and relieved. She wants to tell him to get out. She wants him to take her into his arms.

“Five,” she whines, needy and plaintive and Five comes over to her with a concerned expression. He drank more than half the bottle, why the hell is he so composed? That’s so unfair. Stupid tall high tolerant freak.

His concern is replaced with a smirk. “A freak?” Vanya groans when she realizes that she said that last part out loud. She mumbles something incoherent in reply and is rewarded with the rich sound of Five’s laughter. Instead of making her feel better, her face scrunches up like she’s about to cry. “Okay, sis. No more whiskey. Let’s go.”

Seconds later, Vanya finds herself in the air. She squeaks, automatically grabbing on to the thing closest to her, which just so happens to be Five’s broad shoulders. “Are you carryin’ me?” she gasps with disbelief. Five laughs at her again, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he walks them back to her room. He deposits her gently onto the bed and Vanya immediately crawls under the covers.

“I’ll be back,” he tells her and warps into the air. Vanya takes advantage of her alone time to unhook her bra and kick off her leggings, tossing them on the bed. She’s too lazy to change into pajamas but at the very least she can make herself comfortable. Five returns with a big glass of water, staring at her bra on the bed with a pinched expression. Vanya lets out a pitiful whine and he refocuses his attention on her. “Sit up.”

Vanya groans dramatically and Five sighs. “C’mon Vanya. Sit up.” He ends up having to drag her into a sitting position, holding her head steady as he tips the glass towards her mouth so she can drink. She ends up getting water all over her mouth and shirt but Five wipes at her with his shirt sleeve.

Emboldened, Vanya seizes his wrist while he’s cleaning her up. Five blinks at her. His eyes are so intense, looking straight at them is making her heart pound. That piercing shade of green, both familiar and not. She remembers those eyes. She remembers when she was able to read him. Now, she can't tell what he's thinking at all. “Wanna know a secret?” she asks him. Her voice comes out soft and breathy and she watches as his eyes get darker, utterly fascinated.

“Vanya,” he says lowly.

God, she missed hearing her name in his voice. She missed his name in her mouth. “Five,” she sighs back, dragging him closer. Five’s face is perfectly blank but his eyes are still blazing. Her chest hurts. That old wound in her chest has reopened, bleeding freely, and she’s poured whiskey all over it. Five. Oh, _Five._

The memories are are coming to her without her permission. Days when she freely cupped his jaw, delighting in the tiny smile he reserved just for her. Days when he'd press her down in her narrow bed, body heavy and pleasant above her. Days when her mouth knew the taste of his, when she'd chant his name desperately in the tight sliver of air between their lips as he touched her.

Vanya shudders, closing her eyes.

There are so many secrets she could share with him. Confessions of her guilt, of her sin. Confessions of another nature entirely. But she can’t. The wound hasn’t healed yet. She doesn’t know if Five is going to disappear from her life again. When she opens her eyes again, he's looking at her expectantly and she sighs softly. Full of longing and anguish.

“I don’t like whiskey. I prefer wine.”

She brings his wrist to her nose and inhales. There’s that expensive cologne, and the faint scent of his skin. Somehow, she still remembers it. Does he remember how she smells like? Vanya isn’t sure if these thoughts are staying in her head or spilling out on her alcohol-loosened tongue. But she doesn’t have to worry for long if she keeps talking. Within a few minutes, she’s drifting away, Five murmuring something nonsensical and lulling her to sleep.

If she dreams, she doesn’t remember them.

* * *

Vanya wakes up in the morning with a pounding headache and an awful taste in her mouth. She groans out loud when she opens her eyes, sensitive to the light streaming through her blinds. Completely disoriented, she lies in a pathetic pile of limbs, unwilling to get up. Then, the events of last night come rushing back to her, and she sits up with wide eyes.

Oh no. What did she _do?_

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she groans, stumbling to her feet. What was she thinking drinking with Five? Getting drunk with him? What kind of masochistic idiot is she? She checks on her violin, breathing in relief to see it safe in its case. The relief doesn’t last long, mortification washing over her as she remembers playing an old song and then _crying_ over it. God.

“There is something seriously wrong with me,” she mumbles to herself as she walks to the kitchen for more water, and some aspirin. Probably should make some toast too, even though her stomach protests at the thought of food. This is why she doesn’t drink! She’s so glad that she decided to take the weekend off. She can’t imagine meeting a client with this massive hangover.

When she walks into the kitchen, she’s startled by the bottle resting inconspicuously on her table. That... wasn’t there last night. There’s a note wrapped around its neck and Vanya realizes that it’s wine.

_Wanna know a secret?_

Her heart stops. Opening the note with shaky fingers, she feels surprisingly emotional at the sight of Five’s chicken scratch. There’s not much, just a phone number and two words:

_Call me._

Vanya is definitely going to be sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all wondering where the smut is and believe me I am too. <s>Most likely one or two more chapters of "plot set up" and then it'll get nasty.</s> As always, lemme know what you think!


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